


La Douleur Exquise

by ephemeralexistence



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fictional Disease, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, They are all doctors!, hanahaki, medical AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralexistence/pseuds/ephemeralexistence
Summary: Jughead Jones is on the final year of his training as a thoracic surgeon when he began experiencing ferocious chest pains that seized him at arbitrary times of the day; sometimes, he coughed out blood accompanied by curious forms that distinctly resemble flower petals.He discovered (with great incredulity) that he suffered from a disease called Hanahaki Disease - a rare type of disease that allegedly affects individuals that suffer from a profound unrequited love. He'd have easily dismissed it as an alternative fact when he realized that his symptoms started appearing when his best friend of a decade started dating a man of prominent stature, and he watched her slip away from him.Fortunately for Jughead, the disease is completely curable. It'd go away when the object of the patient’s affections returns his feelings, or by surgical removal. As a surgeon, the choice shouldn’t have to be difficult for Jughead; but as he discovered, once the curious growth is resected from the diseased lungs, the feelings along with all memories of the beloved disappear. And if he leaves the disease on its natural course, he may end up dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> La Douleur Exquise is a french term which means a heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have.
> 
> Many thanks to my darling @beanie-betty for beta-reading this. You're a darling for not getting tired of me! Also to @fangirlthatwrites for looking over this when it was still a scattered mess. Thank you!

Jughead examined the X-ray film on the viewbox attached to the wall of the cramped clinic of his primary care physician. He stared transfixed at the image laid before him: a radiographic snapshot of a chest. As a cardiothoracic surgery resident, Jughead had seen thousands of X-ray films of the chest; so many that he could easily distinguish the normal from the abnormal, the mild from the severe, the innocuous from the toxic. 

 

However, it was the first time that Jughead had seen something like this: an illuminated film of the chest — but it might as well be called a  _ secret garden _ , because shadows distinctly resembling the form of flower petals matted both of the lungs. Thin stems protruded from the base, arching and bending toward each of the bronchi, obliterating the shadow of the tinier branches of the airway, until they ended just before the center of the chest - the designated position of the heart. A lobe of the left lung had been fully occupied.

 

Jughead could have marveled at the peculiar sight, had it been any other radiographic film. But this film was different: it was his own. 

 

He cleared his throat and faced his physician, Dr. Ethel Muggs, who was standing next to him, also staring at the same film with disbelief evident in her eyes. 

 

“Ethel, have you ever seen anything like this?” Jughead asked. 

 

“No,” she answered, her gaze alternating between Jughead and the negatoscope displaying the X-ray film. “I’ve never seen something like this. There must have been a mistake when they developed the film. There’s no way you could be growing flowers in your lungs,” she paused for a beat before adding in a hesitant tone, “is there?” 

 

Jughead gave her a wry smile as an answer. He thanked her for her time, and bid her farewell. 

 

.

.

.

 

In truth, Jughead knew more than Ethel about this case. The X-ray was just a confirmation of his prolonged suspicion on what kind of disease he might have. 

 

About three months prior, he’d started to have unrelenting coughing fits that were usually accompanied by ferocious chest pains. Over the course of the few months, he’d experienced varying degrees of chest pains - ranging from mild, ignorable pain, to pain that caused his breath to hitch and his teeth to grind, to pain that was so severe he ended up curled up in the fetal position, his fists balled, rendering him only a few notches away from screaming his lungs out. 

 

He could have easily chalked it up to stress and hard work, and to the innate frailty of the physical body as opposed to the mind. But one particular afternoon a month ago, while he was lounging at the hospital’s cafeteria after a long surgery, eating his first meal of the day— he had been seized by an excruciating pain in his chest, so violent that he had to abandon the meal he’d been previously looking forward to (an event that was unprecedented). His breathing had come as gasps as he felt his airways spasm and tighten, leaving him reeling on the ground. 

 

That day, he had ended up in one of the tiny hospital beds in the emergency room. 

 

Jughead was no stranger to pain. He’d been seeing it in most of the patients that came through the doors of the hospital. He’d seen physical suffering in various forms, but he’d never  _ felt  _ anything like that. More accurately, he’d never felt pain so debilitating to the point of resignation to death. Jughead had thought that death would have been a welcome respite from that kind of acute suffering. 

 

That night, he had woken up feeling like his mouth had turned into sandpaper, and his airway felt like a thousand thorns had passed through it instead of air. 

 

***

 

_ A mop of blonde hair rested on the bed beside his left arm, stray strands that escaped a loose ponytail were strewn across the sterile sheets; a delicate hand clasped one of his frail ones. Jughead attempted to pull his hand from her grasp, but the action roused her. When she straightened from her seat, her eyes were unfocused for a while before they filled with tears, and the next second, she was throwing her body all over him.  _

 

_ It was Betty, his best friend of a decade. Also, the love of his life. _

 

_ “Juggie!” she cried as she snuggled closer to him, burying her face on the nook of his neck. “You scared me! I saw you gasping and thrashing on the ground, and the next minute you were lying unconscious! I was so scared, I thought you were gonna…” she was unable to finish her sentence as her words were drowned by her sobs. She took a few moments to level her breathing before straightening up again, and then she fixed her gaze into his, a wordless question emanating from her eyes. _

 

_ “I’m fine. I think I just had an asthma attack,” Jughead tried to say casually, but his voice came out so small and raspy it was a wonder that she even understood him. _

 

_ “Asthma attack! That was no asthma attack, Jug! I was there! I saw you grapple for air, and you were coughing out blood and… and…” she let her voice trail, as though unsure of what she was about to say.  _

 

_ “And what?” Jughead croaked. _

 

_ “You were coughing out flowers, Juggie. Actual flower petals. At first, I thought it was only blood, but as you churned out more of them, the clearer they appeared.”  _

 

_ Jughead stayed silent. That wasn’t the first time that such a peculiar event happened. Although, it was the first time that someone else witnessed it. He’d been coughing out blood, at times accompanied by curious forms that distinctly resembled _ forget-me-nots _. That afternoon was the third time that it happened to him. The first time, he’d been so shaken that he hadn’t managed to get a wink of sleep, even though he’d been hopelessly sleep-deprived for several days.  _

 

_ Interestingly, the coughing of petals started three months ago when his various other symptoms began appearing. If not for the devastating pain that started to arrest him at arbitrary times of the day, he would entertain the idea that he might be losing his mind.  _

 

_ “I asked Dr. Fred Andrews to admit you under his service, just to get a work-up and get a better picture of what’s happening.” Betty said, propping herself on his hospital bed. “I already ordered a chest X-ray. The new intern will wheel you to radio ... You may have to go through contrast chest CT, and possibly get a blood count and PT-aPTT for your bleeding ...” Betty started talking so fast, the authoritative tone that she used when she was being the spectacular Dr. Cooper coming to the surface. (Nothing less can be expected from Dr. Cooper, the best of their batch of cardiothoracic surgery residents, and top candidate for the chief residency position.) _

 

_ Jughead waved a hand in front of her to stop her in her litany.  _

 

_ “I’m fine, Betts. It’s just my hyperreactive airways and my accumulated fatigue manifesting. There’s no need to make a big deal out of this.” He attempted to sit, but a wave of vertigo washed over him, causing him to drop his head back on the pillow. He shut his eyes to alleviate this fresh batch of unfamiliar symptoms. When he thought it was safe for him to open his eyes, he added, “Besides, it’s the busy time of the year, I can’t afford to be admitted. We’re swamped with cases.”  _

 

_ “No, Juggie! You can’t just dismiss these things! We don’t know what’s happening!”  _

 

_ “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me,” he attempted to sound more convincing, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.  _

 

_ “But Jug— ” Betty pleaded, her voice thick with concern. She cupped the side of his face, rubbing her thumb lightly on his cheek. With a tremulous sigh, she said, “Why can’t I be worried about you? You’re the most important person in my life… You’re my... best friend.” _

 

_ She said it with so much sorrow that Jughead felt a lump lodge on his throat. He swallowed a couple of times to push it back down - but it stayed in place.   _

 

_ “You know that, right?” she added when Jughead failed to respond, trepidation passing through her eyes. _

 

_ He opened his mouth to tell her that  _ yes, he knew, _ but he felt the start of spasms in his chest - no different from what he previously felt. He tried to squeeze a couple of breaths into his lungs, before he managed to say, “Do you think you could order some steroids for me?”  _

 

_ Seconds later, he was wheezing and gasping, and his eyes were bulging out.  _

 

_ What followed was a blur to Jughead — he saw Betty jumping to the crash cart nearby, getting a clear vial of medicine; a couple of nurses came running to her aid, and the next thing he knew, he felt his chest opening up, and then he was breathing again. _

 

_ “See? Hyperreactive airways. Nothing that a good ol’ steroid can’t fix,” he panted after a few minutes. He tried a smile, but all that came out was a wince. _

 

_ “Juggie, you gotta stop making light of this situation. I’m serious! I’m admitting you right now!” Betty stated, anger beginning to latch on her voice. She began to tear up again, and just when he was about to hold her hand (he hated being the cause of her agony), he heard heavy footsteps approaching his bed.  _

 

_ “Hey, man. Are you alright? Betty was worried sick back there. I got scared too.”  _

 

_ Jughead turned to see Trev, all smiles and obviously bearing nothing but congeniality and genuine concern.  _

 

_ “Betty, you okay?” Trev said in Betty’s direction, his voice dropping a notch lower. He ducked to drop a kiss on top of her head, but Betty moved subtly away (almost deliberately it seemed), leaving Trev hanging.  _

 

_ “Y-yeah. I’m fine. I was just telling Jug to get admitted for work-up, but he’s being a stubborn jerk,” she said in her unnaturally perky voice, sitting back on the chair beside his bed.  _

 

_ A deep frown started forming on Trev’s forehead, and he looked like he was about to say something to Betty but thought better of it. Instead, he turned his attention to him. “Yeah, she’s right, Jones. It won’t hurt your good graces with the chief if you get off work for a few days, especially if you’re sick. One can never be too cautious when it comes to health.”  _

 

_ Trev Brown was the chief resident of the neurosurgery unit; good-looking, smart,  _ creme de la creme  _ of his batch, and from a prominent and rich family. In short, everything that Jughead was not. On the other hand, Jughead was barely keeping his head above water in his program. He was the son of an alcoholic, and he grew up in a trailer park before getting absorbed in the foster system after his father was convicted for petty crimes. He barely escaped a terrible cycle of poverty.  _

 

_ Next to Trev, Jughead was nothing. If there had to be a competition of sorts in getting Betty’s affections, he didn’t stand a chance. Trev was the perfect match for his best friend.  _

 

_ That’s why Jughead didn’t even find a reason to protest when Betty came to him bearing the news that seemed to slam the skies over him - that she had started dating Trev Brown. What Jughead couldn’t understand was the tinge of sadness and desolation in Betty’s voice at the time. Almost like she didn’t want to, but had no choice in the matter. In the end, Jughead chalked it up to his imagination - the way he dismissed any sort of fantasy he used to have about Betty reciprocating his age-old feelings for her.  _

 

_ Curiously, it was a few days after he heard that news when he began to suffer from his unusual illness. As if the universe never ran out of things to torture him with. Tough luck, he used to think.  _ Just the Jones luck.

 

_ “Juggie, please. If you don’t wanna do this for yourself, can you at least do it for me?” Betty muttered, standing up. She reached for the clipboard bearing his ER chart, scribbling what Jughead suspected were orders for his admission.  _

 

_ Jughead looked at her intently - longer than necessary - into her large doe eyes that always left him powerless. He saw how she set her jaw, eyes exuding stony determination, and Jughead knew that he had no choice in the matter.  _

 

_ It was typical of her. She always had to be in control, and be aware of any eventualities. Betty was the kind of person to prepare for any kind of surprises — good or bad.  _

 

_ And Jughead knew that she didn’t want to be caught unprepared for whatever health crisis he may be facing. He may not have believed that she had any romantic feelings for him, but he knew in his heart that he was the most important person in her life, as she liked to remind him time and again.  _

 

_ So, to appease her apparent distress, he stated, “Alright, alright. I’ll go through the damn tests. But I’m not getting admitted. I’ll just do them on outpatient basis.” Betty’s face instantly lit up, and Jughead felt his breathing hitch a little.  _

 

_ Trev moved closer to her, arms snaking to her waist - a possessive move, Jughead noted. “C’mon, sweetheart. We gotta go. We’ll be late for our reservation,” he whispered in her ear, and Jughead thought he saw her shift uncomfortably.  _

 

_ “Okay,” she whispered before turning her attention to him, “Jug, remember. Work-up,” she reminded him again, and walked closer to his bed. She looked at him long and hard, wearing an unreadable expression before she let go of a visible sigh. She leaned on the bed to plant a kiss on his head, and said in a voice so soft he was sure it was meant to for his ears only, “I’ll check on you later, I promise.”  _

 

_ It was Jughead’s turn to heave a sigh, and then he willed himself to give her a smile - or something closely resembling a smile. “Bye, Betts. Enjoy your date.”  _

 

_ They turned on their heels, walking away from him side by side, with Trev’s hand resting on the small of her back. Jughead’s insides twisted into a knot, and a vaguely familiar stabbing in his heart resurfaced. He waited for the impending increase in its intensity, but somehow it didn’t come, like an expected hurricane that changed its course in the meantime. _

 

_ But Jughead knew that sooner or later, the hurricane would come back and inundate him once again. Until then, he meant to keep his head up. _

 

_ He watched their retreating backs until they rounded a corner, looking every bit complementary and picture-perfect.  _

 

_ Suddenly, Jughead felt like he wanted to cry. And it took every willpower he had at the time not to give in.  _

 

***

 

He’d promised Betty that he would undergo the necessary diagnostic work-up, but as it turned out, Jughead had been sucked into the busy routine of his professional life. Time seemed to contract when he worked in the operating room. Days slipped into nights without notice. 

 

He had welcomed the distraction. He’d found that the more he allowed himself to get lost in the hospital jungle— getting some sense of purpose— the less time spared for him to think about Betty, and the nagging thoughts of how things might have turned out differently for him - for them - had he been less of a coward. So, he’d toiled and worked himself to exhaustion.

 

He’d become an expert in avoiding Betty and in evading trains of thought that might lead to her. He’d stopped going to the doctor’s lounge in the OR complex where they’d previously spent idle times together in between procedures, when they were allowed to dawdle before they get propelled into the hustle and bustle of the hospital. 

 

Sometimes, in the rare chances of him having the luxury to stare into space, he would think of how he might catch a glimpse of her face while he scrambled through the hallways, but at the same time dreading the very same thing, because he’d grown to fear the all-consuming pain that seemed to intensify when she was around. He’d thought of how long it had been since they had sat together in the call rooms discussing and figuring out difficult cases.  He’d thought of how he missed her smile, and the glint in her eyes whenever she stared into his. 

  
  
  
  
  


Meanwhile, his illness seemed to have taken free rein over his body. The attacks had been occurring more frequently, each one worse than the last. It had become increasingly difficult for Jughead to conceal it as he’d tried to carry on with his life. 

 

At some point, he had started researching about a disease that would explain the conglomeration of his symptoms. In his years of practice, he’d never encountered anyone exhibiting the same symptoms as his. In most of the academic books that he’d read, there was no mention of a disease that made the afflicted cough out actual flowers. And the more it eluded him, the more reluctant he had become about getting tested, which in turn had made him retreat to his own world, shunning everyone else. 

 

But Jughead had been determined to find out about the nature of his illness, so he’d spent what little free time he had in poring over books, both mainstream and obscure. 

 

Finally after weeks of researching, he had found something that vaguely resembled his malady, one that was coined by the Japanese as  _ Hanahaki Disease.  _ There had been a single paragraph about it in a book of exotic and rare diseases, and the more he’d read about it, the more preposterous it seemed to him. He hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the information he was getting - such as a disease caused by a  _ profound unrequited love _ , or so the passage said. 

 

He would have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it - but the more he’d read about it, the more everything seemed to come together. He could understand depression and a dent on mental health as a result of the woes of the heart, but growing actual flowers in his chest? There must be some other explanation. 

 

He’d found several case reports filed over the years about the disease, but they were few and scattered. But he needed to know more. As a physician, Jughead understood that the start of treating any form of illness is to understand it well. When he couldn’t get any satisfaction from all his readings, he’d decided to take his chances in consulting his mentor, Dr. Fred Andrews, the chief of their department.

  
  
  
  
  


After seeing his X-ray, Jughead went straight to the office of Dr. Andrews, hoping that their chief had answers to his questions. He found him hunched over his desk, a deep frown creasing his forehead, as he read what Jughead assumed was a compilation of cases. 

 

When he thought that he could interrupt, he knocked on the door and said, “Dr. Andrews. Do you have a minute?” 

 

The older man looked up from his reading, and his eyebrows knit together. He put down the folder he was holding - a signal for Jughead to go on.

 

“What do you know about Hanahaki Disease, Dr. Andrews?” Jughead asked as he followed the chief’s wordless gesture for him to sit in front of his desk. 

 

That must have rung an alarm, because as soon as he asked his question, Dr. Andrews straightened from his seat, his expression wearing something akin to worry. “Why do you ask? That’s a fatal disease, Jughead. Thankfully it’s not very common, especially in these parts. I’m surprised you even heard about it.” 

 

“Have you seen someone afflicted with it?” Jughead tried to ask lightly, but solicitude began creeping into his expression. 

 

“I’ve only seen it once, when I did an observership training in Japan years ago. It’s not carefully studied yet, because cases are few, and I imagine not reported very often. It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen, I’d tell you that.” He regarded Jughead considerably before asking, “Do you suspect someone having the disease?” 

 

Jughead had always felt some sort of kinship with the chief, and in the years under his mentorship, he’d always made him feel important, like perhaps he was the son he’d never had. It didn’t take much for Jughead to start talking about his symptoms with his mentor. Having been weighed down by his illness for too long, he found it a relief to finally open up to someone. He shared about his bouts of chest pains and his struggle for breathing during the attacks, and ultimately, the coughing out of flower petals - which Jughead considered to be the most disturbing of it all. 

 

Dr. Andrews looked at Jughead intently, genuine concern evident in his eyes. “Jughead, I’m not really sure how this disease develops, and current literature isn’t of much help either. But the Japanese believe that it arises due to profound unrequited love. Don’t quote me on that, but for some unusual causation, they’ve come up with that conclusion.” He paused and leaned forward, his hands meeting together on his desk. “I say you have a couple of options here. One, you could find a way to have your affections be returned - which I must say should be  _ damn _ deep for you to have this affliction. And two, you can opt for surgery. That—” he said while pointing at his chest, “— is totally resectable. ” 

 

“That’s it? Surgery and it’ll be cured?” Jughead somehow couldn’t believe that it could be so easy.

 

“Yes, the one case that I’ve seen underwent surgery, and she recovered quite well...” Dr. Andrews said, his tone making a subtle change.

 

Jughead could sense a  _ but _ in that statement, so he quirked his eyebrows and voiced as much. “But?” 

 

Hesitation lingered on Dr. Andrews’ eyes before he answered, “Well, I don’t know exactly why or how it happened, but her memories weren’t exactly intact after surgery. She completely lost her memories of the person she used to love. That’s why I said it’s the strangest thing I’ve seen.” He leaned back on his chair before he continued, “It’s a mysterious disease, Jughead. Almost like it’s one of the metaphysical things that continues to evade scientific explanation.”

 

Jughead just stared at the older man for a while. He felt as though he was getting out of his depth as he tried to process everything he’d heard. 

 

“What if I continue supportive treatment? I noticed that it responds to pain relievers and steroids,” he asked after a while. He wanted to explore other options.

 

“The disease is progressive, and it grows  _ fast _ . If we don’t operate, it could be fatal.” Dr. Andrews expelled an audible sigh, his eyes never leaving Jughead’s. “I mean, if we do nothing, Dr. Jones, you may die, and we don’t have much time to waste.” 

 

Minutes passed in silence, and Jughead allowed himself to absorb all the information he just received. His confliction must have shown on his face, because Dr. Andrews broke the silence and spoke in a sympathetic tone. 

 

“I’m not going to let you die, Jughead. You’re far too talented to just die. We could do the surgery as soon as you’re ready.” 

 

Jughead took a long, deep breath, and then he exhaled slowly before finally saying, “Can I sleep on it?”

 

“Absolutely. But don’t take too long. At the rate you’re getting the attacks, we might not have the luxury of time.”  

 

Jughead nodded, and started rising from his seat. “Thank you, Dr. Andrews. I’ll let you know my decision as soon as possible.” 

 

 

_ tbc. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it became longer than I intended. I had to break it in two chapters. Do watch out for the next chapter in a couple of days! It's almost done, I just need a little editing before I post it. 
> 
> Jughead Jones is my favorite baby, so you know, I may subject him to a lot of pain, but I also like giving him a happy ending. ;) 
> 
> Please tell me what you think about this! Much love! 
> 
> Catch me on Tumblr as @/coledemort if you have questions. :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read this little piece, and to those who left comments and kudos. I really appreciate them. It makes the effort all worth it. Also, thanks to those who reblogged my post on Tumblr. Much love you to you all. 
> 
> Again, many thanks to @beanie-betty for being my wonderful beta-reader, and to @fangirlthatwrites who looked it over for me at the beginning.

After the medical fog had cleared, Jughead felt that he had gained enough information about his enigmatic disease. He then was faced with the truth of his own mortality. He became acutely aware of the brevity of his existence. He knew that someday he would have to die, he just didn’t expect it to come so soon - not in the days when he thought he had escaped a predetermined life of misery. He worked hard in the hope that someday he may be able to become someone - a person that had something to be proud of. He thought he had time. But now, flush in the face of an imminent death, all that potential of becoming something all but evaporated.

 

Now his timeline had been severely contracted; his decisions had to be urgent, rushed. He thought of all the lost time he could have spent with Betty, and he was arrested by an overpowering regret. If he could take back time, he knew he would do things differently.

 

He decided to spend what little remained of his life in Betty’s presence— no matter how his chest lurched and splintered at the sight of her.

 

So on one seemingly ordinary evening - one that was no different from the countless evenings they’d spent holed up in the hospital - he found his way to the viewing room of the operating theatre where he knew he would find Betty.

 

She was working on a case of early stage lung cancer - one that was still viable for surgery; _segmentectomy, left lower lung_ was indicated on the little whiteboard on the side wall.

 

He sat in one of the empty chairs next to an intern clutching a half-eaten donut, his head lolled to the side. (Jughead assumed that it must be his first nap after long hours of scuttling through the hospital.) He glanced at his watch - 8:30 pm. Betty’s case was one of the two remaining electives of the day.

 

Jughead looked at the ongoing operation, and surmised that they were  nearing the end of the procedure. Betty had her back to him, but he pictured how her brows knitted together when she was deep in concentration. Even behind her face mask, he knew how her lips pursed when she encountered unexpected difficulties during operations. Through their shared procedures before, he had become adept in moving in sync with her.

 

The intern’s half-eaten donut rolled to the floor, and the intern jolted. He straightened in his seat when he noticed Jughead, and forced his eyes on the operation.

 

( _Internship_ was a word that always left a bitter taste in his mouth.)

 

Jughead remembered how his internship year - the year that makes or breaks a doctor - became tolerable for him because Betty was with him every step of the way - to share his joy in his triumphs and to cry with him in his failures. He was exactly the same for her. Their relationship used to be so deeply intertwined on so many aspects, like an evolving vocabulary of all things that mattered. He wondered if that was still the case.

 

_If it wasn’t, was it his fault?_

 

His gaze fleeted back to Betty, who was still busy getting rid of a patient’s diseased lung. Jughead imagined that if he opted for surgery, the procedure for his case would have to be more complicated: a whole lobe of his lung would have to be resected, and various other segments of the other lung would have to go as well. It would be tedious.

 

But he would not undergo surgery. It was _never_ an option for him. Jughead knew he would never choose a life without any memory of Betty Cooper. Especially when his only bank of good and happy memories were tied with hers.

 

After a while, Betty straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and heaved a visible sigh. Jughead knew that the tricky part of the surgery was over, and it was time for her intern to close up the incision. He counted under his breath, and then as if on cue, Betty looked over her shoulder, like she had known all this time that he was watching her.

 

Her eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners, a telltale sign that she was smiling. She turned to her intern to give final instructions before looking back at him. She then pointed outside, quietly asking him to meet her.

 

Jughead walked to the washing area where she would be cleaning up after the operation. He found her as she was done drying her hands.

 

“Well, that was quick, Dr. Cooper,” he said as he leaned on the door frame. He wanted to appear nonchalant, as though everything was quite the same.

 

“What a surprise, Dr. Jones. Is this the part where you stop avoiding me?” she said as she crossed her arms.  “Would you care to explain why you haven’t returned any of my calls these past weeks?”

 

“I wasn’t avoiding you. Surgery just devoured me whole,” he replied, not quite meeting her eyes.

 

“Yeah, right. You couldn’t even spare me a minute to tell me you’re still breathing?” Betty said in a mildly accusatory tone. She pushed past him through the door, before stopping short when he didn’t move from his position. “Well? Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to join me for a late dinner at the caf?”  

 

Jughead let out a sigh, relieved to realize that she was letting him off the hook - the way she did countless times before. She was always so forgiving.

 

When he caught up with her, she linked her arm in his. Jughead thought about how he missed easy evenings like this - when both of them were done with their responsibilities for the day, and they could waste their time loitering around the hospital because both of them didn’t want to go home just yet.

 

“So? You’d better have a good reason, or I’ll kick your sorry butt,” Betty started as they walked their way to the cafeteria. She appeared perky, but there was a hint of sadness and hurt filtering through her voice.

 

In his attempt to quell the excruciating pain brought about by the thought and presence of Betty, he’d chosen to stay away, the way a hypersensitive person would avoid the triggers of an allergy.

 

(But he couldn’t tell her that, could he? _Well, your presence makes my heart go on a rampage, that’s why._ )

 

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, making Betty look up to him, her brows arching up on her forehead. She looked wounded.

 

Jughead wanted to kick himself in the gut. He sighed deeply, and murmured, “I’m sorry, Betts. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just thought—”

 

“You just thought what?”

 

“I don’t know. I just— I thought you’d want to spend what little of the free time you had with your boyfriend.”

 

She slowed their pace to a halt. She turned to face him, raising her hand to touch his cheek so lightly, it made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Her eyes turned a shade darker, conveying emotions he never expected to see - something akin to loneliness and some sort of anguish, so pure it made his heart ache a little bit more. But then, he could just be seeing his own emotions mirrored in her eyes.

 

He couldn’t be sure.

 

He’d convinced himself that Betty probably would not notice his absence in her life since she would be busy juggling her career and her newfound love life. Surely, he wouldn’t be missed. The thought used to make the corners of his eyes sting.

 

But judging from the way she uttered, “I _missed_ you,” all of a sudden, in a voice shrouded with hurt, he realized he’d been completely wrong.  


He swallowed, ignoring the thrumming in his chest that was becoming louder by the minute.

 

When he paid attention to their path, he noticed that she’d led him to the less beaten corridors leading to the cafeteria. (It used to amuse Jughead - the thought that their hospital had multiple secret passageways, as if the original developers of the building had anticipated the need for extra spaces where weary hospital staff could find their little nooks to bang their heads, or shed their tears when they felt too overwhelmed by the world.)

 

“Betty, I need to tell you something,” he said on a shaky breath, before a gasp escaped involuntarily. His heart was doing this funny thing where it quivered and paused for half a beat, making him strain for air.

 

The hallway was bathed in the generic fluorescent lights of the hospital. No sound could be heard except for their footsteps as they made their way to the side, hand in hand. He pulled her to sit with him on the cold, tiled floor.

 

They sat side by side in awkward silence for a while. Betty tucked her feet under her legs before looking at him, her luminous eyes wide, seemingly receptive of whatever he had to say.

 

Suddenly, his palms turned sweaty and his breaths came out in ragged gasps. Worry began creeping on her face as she watched him struggle.

 

“Juggie, are you okay?” she asked, her eyes becoming alert.

 

“Yeah,” he choked on a strangled breath. “I just— I just need a minute.”

 

“C’mon, I’ll take to the ER. You don’t look okay,” she said, standing up. There was an urgency in her voice, and Jughead suspected that his pain had made its way into his expression.

 

“No, Betts... Stay… I need to tell you something.” He panted the words as he tried to ease the increasing pain in his chest.

 

She sat back down, her expression filled with worry as she scanned his face.

 

“Jug, what is it? Please, talk to me,” she coaxed, her eyes turning bright with unshed tears.

 

He took a couple of minutes to level his breathing.

 

 _I love you, Betts,_ is what he wanted to say.

 

_I love you so fucking much it’s killing me._

 

He fumbled through one of the leg pockets of his scrub pants and produced multiple rescue medications. (That was his life now - one that depended on a couple of pills to get back into functionality whenever his chest started to shake and churn aggressively.)

 

Betty’s eyes became wide, a hundred questions passing until some sort of realization settled on her face. It seemed to have lasted an hour, but in reality, Jughead knew everything was happening in seconds. After he downed two different kinds of painkillers and an oral steroid to ease the spasm of his airways, he waited a couple of seconds for the relief that used to follow whenever he took the medications.

 

But it never came.

 

His airway continued to constrict and the sharp pain peppering the entirety of his chest went on and on. Sweat broke out of him profusely. He was mildly conscious of Betty’s words of reassurance, a mantra of some sort - _it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, Jughead. Hold on, please hold on. Don’t do this to me. Jug. Keep your eyes open._

 

He was lying on the cold hard floor now, and he realized with a hot panic that he could no longer breathe. He opened his eyes wide and saw Betty running, slipping away from him. He reached out, wanting to hold on to her, but in his blurred vision, he saw how the distance between them just kept increasing.

 

Not a moment later, he heard frantic footsteps scuffling on the floor and the sound of wheels dashing through the hallway. He felt his body leave the floor and when he opened his eyes, he saw Betty, her face in a dazed horror, tears stumbling down her cheeks. He tried to reach up, to wipe her tears away - but all strength seemed to have left him. And then, everything slowly faded into darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

A group of two nurses and two interns came speeding through the hallways with a gurney after Betty shouted for help. With joined efforts, they were able to lift Jughead onto the gurney, and then they were rushing to the nearest resuscitation bay.

 

“Prepare the RESUS BAY. I want the intubation tray to be ready when we get there,” Betty shouted to no one in particular, her eyes trained on Jughead’s unconscious form. She blinked hard, forcing the tears out of her eyes.

 

Her vision kept getting out of focus, and her heart felt like it was about to jump out of her chest. Her mind was on the verge of short-circuiting at the sight of a seemingly lifeless form of Jughead. Visceral panic that started in her stomach slowly clawed up to her throat until it threatened to consume her. But she had to keep her head up. For Jughead.

 

She huffed a couple of breaths to calm herself. Using her stethoscope, she listened to his chest; his heart was beating so fast, and his breathing came in gasps that were slow and far between. She heard loud wheezing, and as she made her way down his chest, she heard nothing - no air; just the wild beating of his heart.

 

When they arrived at the resuscitation bay, she lost no time and threw a spiel of instructions to the team surrounding her. There was a flurry of noise announcing his vital signs: pressure’s stable at 120/80, heart rate 114, oxygen saturation was low at 77% —

 

Betty managed to push aside her panic, and focused her energy on the most immediate danger.

 

She inserted a tube through his mouth, and pumped oxygen into his system. When she looked up at the monitor displaying various of his vitals signs, she watched as his oxygen saturation begin to rise. She noted the cardiac tracing - his heart was beating at a regular rate, but it was too fast for her liking.

 

“What’s your latest pressure?” she asked the intern.

 

“120 over 80.”

 

 _Good enough_ , she thought.

 

When she saw the tracing on the monitor slow to a normal rate, Betty let out a sigh so deep she felt her entire strength drain with it.

 

“Get me a portable X-ray in here! And give him 50 milligrams of Tramadol,” Betty ordered.

 

When Jughead was thrashing earlier, and his hand was squeezing hard at his heart, she knew he was in so much pain. From what, she had no idea.

 

She had to know what was wrong with him. When she heard the absence of air in his lungs, she barely managed to allay the panicked horror that lurked at the periphery of her consciousness. It seemed like a mass was lodged in his lungs. But without proper scans and tests, she couldn’t be sure. Did he have cancer? Was that what he was trying to tell her?

 

A lot of questions were swirling in her head, and she didn’t have answers to any of them.

 

One thing she knew though— she would stop at nothing to keep him alive.

  
  
  
  


Later, Dr. Fred Andrews came running toward the bay.

 

“What happened?” he asked as he walked toward the bed where Jughead lay.

 

“He had some sort of airway problems. I couldn’t hear anything in his lower lungs. He had decrease in his sensorium, so I intubated him,” Betty explained.

 

“Good. I’m going to admit him. For now, go home and get some sleep, Dr. Cooper. You don’t look so good yourself,” Dr. Andrews said after assessing the unconscious Jughead.

 

“No, I’m going to stay here,” Betty said firmly. “I need to know what’s happening. I’m not going to get any sleep knowing that Jughead’s in here fighting for his life.”

 

“Alright, if you say so. But remember, I’m in charge now,” he acquiesced pointedly, but not unkindly.

 

“Okay.”

 

The truth was, she was in no shape to be in charge of Jughead’s case. There were so many personal feelings involved - feelings that she didn’t have the chance to communicate.

 

“I might need to schedule an operation for him. Can you contact his relatives, just in case? We would still be needing somebody’s consent.”

 

“Jug’s lost contact with his mother since he was a teen, and his dad’s in jail. As far as I know, I’m the only person he’s got,” Betty stated after exhaling a deep sigh. Hot anger rose from within her, directed at Jughead’s parents whom she never got the chance to meet. She always felt a fierce protectiveness whenever she thought of Jughead’s turbulent childhood, and a kind of unadulterated pride when she thought of how he’d emerged from it.

 

Jughead had been through a series of storms, and always, he’d come out of it stronger. This was no different. Betty had no doubts that he would be able to wake up - that he’d be able to come back to her.

 

“Have him transferred to ICU for now, and we will discuss plans later.” Dr. Andrews’ eyes turned soft before he continued, “Don’t push yourself too hard, Dr. Cooper. He needs you to be strong for him. Page me whenever, if you need me.”

 

“Thank you, Dr. Andrews,” Betty said with a sigh.

 

He turned to leave, but stopped as if a thought had just occurred to him. “It might be a good idea to keep talking to him. You know, tell him what you wanna say, even things that you may not say to his face. I know we always have to keep things strictly scientific here, but you never know. Keep him tethered,” he said finally before exiting the resuscitation bay.

  
  
  
  


Later, after Jughead had been transferred to the ICU, Betty kept pacing inside her call room. The events earlier kept playing in her mind over and over, leaving her breathless, and her whole body thrummed with tension.

 

She felt a gaping hole in her stomach and she remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything beside the bar of chocolate she ate for breakfast. But the thought of food made bile rise to her throat, so she just kept on pacing. She felt helpless and useless in the face of Jughead’s critical illness, and she hated it. She felt trapped in a state of interminable worry and she couldn't stand it. She had to do something — anything.

 

Betty was filled with a visceral need to sink her nails into her skin, or bang her head on a hard surface, or merely scream at the top of her lungs. She was vaguely aware of the cramped walls of the room, which to her, suddenly came to life and began closing in on her. She looked at her hands and saw them trembling violently, and it was all she could do to squeeze her eyes shut and count her breaths.

 

Stifling a sob, she focused on her breathing —inhale, exhale— repeatedly until she attained a regular, tolerable rate.

 

 _This wouldn’t do_. She remembered Dr. Andrews’ words, and willed herself to be strong. Earlier, the thought of Jughead dying crossed her mind, and a stark fear overwhelmed her, and she pushed the idea out of her mind almost as soon as it came to her.

  


After a while, she found herself in the ICU, walking as if in a trance toward the sleeping form of Jughead. Numerous tubes were attached to him, and Betty was seized by uncontrollable grief at the sight. It was almost too much. She thought of his future that was standing at the precipice of becoming no more - of the many late night shenanigans that they were yet to spend figuring out difficult cases; of the many lives that Jughead was yet to save; of the many years that were supposedly lain before them; of the endless love that he was yet to receive.

 

There was still so much to do and so much to say.

 

She let her eyes roam over his face, her hand holding one of his. Tears started filling her eyes, before they overflowed and became unstoppable. “Jughead, don’t you dare die on me,” she sobbed.

 

“Please, I need you here, Jughead.” She released a shuddering breath, before adding in a softer, much, much tentative voice, “I love you.”

 

She thought her whole body shook at the statement - at finally getting to admit an unvarnished truth - one that she had kept hidden for a long time.

 

Selfishly, some sort of liberation came with it, as though a large part of her wanted nothing but to let such a secret out in the open.

 

And with more conviction, she whispered in his ear, “I love you so much, Jughead. Come back to me.”

 

She cried for a good long while, and before long, she felt a hand softly touch her shoulder.

 

She looked over her shoulder, and saw the nurse-in-charge giving her a sympathetic look.

 

“Dr. Cooper, it’s time to prep Dr. Jones. The operation is in an hour,” the nurse said, her eyes  somber and alert above her face mask.

 

“Right,” she murmured, and stepped away from the bed.

 

She had to pull herself together. This would be a long operation.

 

* * *

 

The first thing that came to Jughead’s mind even before he attempted to open his eyes was the scratchy feeling in his throat, as if his airway was peeled off of its layers. The beeping of monitors distantly crawled into his consciousness. His mouth was parched, and when he tried to lick his lips, he found that even his tongue was devoid of any moisture. _What happened?_

 

Slowly, he opened his eyes and was met by a familiar room - one that he’d visited multiple times in the past to see his patients. This time though, he was the one lying in the hospital bed. He scanned the four corners of the room, and saw no one. There was a chair stationed near his bed, but it was empty. He glanced at the small table attached to the wall and saw that it was overflowing with fruits baskets and bouquets of flowers that he could barely recognize.

 

_What happened?_

 

He heard soft noises inside the bathroom, and a few moments later, a tall woman clad in matching scrub suits, with blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail emerged from the door.

 

There was a stunned look on her face. He watched her eyes grow wide, and a gasp escaped her mouth before she came running toward his bed, and not long after, he found himself wrapped in her embrace.

 

Jughead inhaled her scent— a mixture of vanilla and something floral— something _very_ familiar.

 

He closed his eyes and murmured, “ _Betty_ ,” on a shuddering breath. And then he was pulling her closer to him, putting every strength he had in his body to get her flush against him, all the while reassuring himself that this was real.

 

Betty seemed to be in an equal state of desperation as she clung to him tightly, her sobs muffled as she hid her face in his shoulder.

 

“Betts, I need to tell you something—”

 

“Jug, I need to tell you something—”

 

They both mumbled at the same time after a while. Betty began extricating herself from his embrace, and perched herself on the tiny space in his bed, her hands enveloping one of his.

 

Jughead scanned her face, and noticed the dark rings around her eyes which were now closely resembling his own. She looked weary, and there were tears quietly rolling down her face. He lifted his hands to her face, his thumbs brushing the moisture away. He had an overpowering urge to crush his lips to hers, but somehow, he managed to hold it in.

 

Instead, he sighed and croaked, “I’m sick, Betty.” He allowed a few seconds to let his words sink in, his eyes earnest.

 

“I know,” she uttered softly. “But it’s all over now, Jug. You’re okay. You’re fine,” she whispered the last words on an exhale as if some sort of relief was expelled with it.

 

One of her hands came up to wrap it around his wrist and brought his hand down and interlaced his fingers with hers. She looked at their interlocked fingers, and an indecipherable expression was etched on her face.

 

Jughead grew confused at what she meant. He felt as though a lot of time had passed, and he needed to catch up fast.

 

“What happened, Betty?” he asked quietly, eyes fixed on her face.

 

“You were out for a few days, Jug. Your major bronchi closed up completely and I had to intubate you, and transfer you to the ICU. We almost operated on you, you know ... Dr. Andrews was _frantic_ , said we had to do an emergency lobectomy…” She paused as she sniffled and wiped some of her tears away. “It was the worst day of my life. I was so scared and hurt at the same time. I was hurt that you were hiding such a disease from me, and that I had to learn it from someone else.” She let out a long and deep sigh, before continuing, “I was ready to spend the next 12 hours in the OR with you. But the weirdest thing happened. When I auscultated your chest again, right there in the OR table, it was so clear. I knew how it sounded earlier that night and it was nothing like that. When we did a repeat X-ray, it looked normal.”

 

Betty started to rub her thumb on his hand absently, and continued her story. “Then Dr. Andrews cancelled the OR, and said there was no need for it anymore. He then squeezed your shoulder and whispered, _son, looks like your love ain’t unrequited after all_ ,” her voice turned a few knots deeper when she quoted. “But I wasn’t about to let him get out of there without understanding what’s happening, so I asked him, and he explained your disease to me. It was afterwards that I began to suspect what really happened, and you know what, Juggie, right then and there - in the operating room - I had the most wonderful epiphany. It was as if a curtain was lifted, and everything that’s happened between us shifted and had different meaning all of a sudden.”

 

Jughead didn’t trust his voice at that moment; he was sure that the second he opened his mouth, it would give way to the torrential outflow of everything he’d kept closely and safely guarded within his chest. But listening to her words gave him hope, and so, he lifted his gaze into hers and hoped that all of the feelings trapped inside his being found their way to her.

 

Betty’s irises turned multiple shades darker, her pupils blown wide. And then _—_ she held his face steady, squeezed her eyes shut, and slowly, she inched closer and closer to him.

 

Jughead let his eyes flutter closed just as he felt her lips touch his. It was tender and tantalizing, and it was everything he’d ever wanted. He’d imagined it happening a million times before but nothing compared to this _—_ the real Betty kissing him. He lifted his hands to glide lightly along her neck before he let them settle on her jaw, and he angled his face to deepen the kiss. Their lips moved so perfectly together like they were made exactly for this. Time seemed to slow as their mouths continued to explore territories they both longed for, but too terrified to step into. He felt warmth spread all over his chest, and the heaviness in his stomach disappeared. When the kiss ended, he continued to hold her face close to his, and sighed contently.

 

“ _I love you_ , Jughead,” she breathed softly, and lifted his face so that he was looking directly into her eyes. “I am in love with _you_. I have always been.”

 

Jughead felt all kinds of emotions rush to his chest, but he managed to find a catchment for them all, and hoped he could convey all these enormous feelings he’d crammed into his being, and mumbled in a voice so soft, “Betty, I love you so, so, _so_ much. I have loved you the first time you decided that I was worth to be graced by your incredible presence. You’re a miracle, Betty. You’re everything I thought I’d never have.”

 

She beamed softly in response, her whole face seemed to light up in doing so. “Why didn’t you tell me anything sooner? We could’ve spared ourselves all those heart aches.”

 

“You’re too important to lose, Betts. I’d never assume you would reciprocate my feelings, and I was so afraid I’d lose your friendship if I suddenly poured my feelings for you. And I wasn’t ready to lose you. I’m not sure if I am capable of losing you.”

 

“I know ... I know _exactly_ how that feels. It’s why I tried to get over my feelings for you, but I can’t Jug. I tried dating, but all I could think about when I am out on a date was you. I broke up with Trev weeks ago. Both of us knew that we were headed nowhere. I was too hung-up on my feelings for you, and it was not fair for him and for you. I wanted to tell you for a while, but you kept avoiding me, and I thought you knew about how I felt, and that I’d ruined our friendship.” She finished with a sob, and a fresh batch of tears began filling her eyes.

 

“Oh no, Betty. I am so sorry. I’m so _fucking_ sorry.” Jughead said as he pulled her to his chest, regret threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t believe he just subjected Betty to a lot of pain just because he was an idiot who couldn’t look past his insecurities. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mumbled after pressing a kiss on her head.

 

Betty straightened up after a while, and said in her usual sunny voice, “It’s okay now, Jughead. We’re okay now. I’m sorry too ... but can we just promise not to keep things from each other? It nearly destroyed us the first time we did,” she said. There was a lightness in her voice that Jughead felt forgiven, although he didn't deserve it. 

 

“I promise, I promise. I’m _sorry._ ” Jughead sighed desperately, as he began pulling her face to his.

 

_fin._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm so fucking sorry. I hope the ending's worth the angst.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Do tell me what you think about it! I always love hearing your thoughts! :D


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